Quotes About Memory

I'm afraid you're all mixed up in my mind,' I said. 'I wonder where they are now –' 'Married.' She spoke it as if it were the name of a distant country.

He saw moving pictures. It was not quite like remembering.

I can't quite believe he has actually left this scene, left our lives, wherein he was always so significant!

In the torpor of the afternoon the remembered road had the slightly menacing and elusive familiarity of a place in a dream when one thinks: I have been here, yet where is it and what is going to happen?

Mercifully one forgets one's love affairs as one forgets one's dreams.

To lose somebody is to lose not only their person but all those modes and manifestations into which their person has flowed outwards; so that in losing a beloved one may find so many things, pictures, poems, melodies, places lost too.

God, how the young and beautiful vanish and are no more seen.

And what is love anyway? Love's all over the mountain where the beautiful go to die no doubt, but I cannot attach much meaning to your idea of such a long-lasting love for someone you lost sight of so long ago. Perhaps it's something you've invented now.

I'm afraid I don't know their address, but there it is, when people are gone they're gone, isn't it.

That love all belonged to the elapsed moment.

I cannot now remember the exact sequence of events in those prehistoric years. That we cannot remember such things, that our memory, which is our self, is tiny, limited and fallible, is also one of those important things about us, like our inwardness and our reason. Indeed it is the very essence of both.

It's not even like memory. It's all just there. All the time, Willy? Every hour, every minute.

One's capacity to forget absolutely is immense.

Year after year he wondered if he should go back and year after year felt it all recede from him past hope, past endeavour . . . He could not find his way back there.

Izgubiti nekoga ne zna?i izgubiti samo osobu nego i sve one na?ine i oblike kroz koje se ta osoba izražavala; zato ?ovjek izgubivši voljenu osobu može odjednom otkriti da je izgubio i mnoštvo stvari, slika, stihova, pjesama i mjesta.

How could he assess her like this because of something which had happened in the past? The past was never real for Dora. The notion that Paul might keep her past alive to torment her with, now occurred to her for the first time.

You have sometimes thought of going back? Yes, I have, but only in a fantasy way.

Can one, in such a self-portrait, omit something which affected one's whole being and which one has thought of every day of one's life? 'Every day' exaggerates, but not much. I do not need to 'recall' Hartley, she is here. She is my end and my beginning, she is alpha and omega.

The past is gone, it doesn't exist any more.

I remained, leaning a little on her shoulder, my cheek touching her crown of golden hair. It was fading into grey. One day, without having noticed the transition, I would see that it was gold no longer.

His love for Janie was not accessible to memory, he knew it only on evidence.

There is a deep foundation of my being which knows not of time and change and is still and ever with Hartley, in that good place where we once were.

Even now I shake and tremble as I write. Memory is too weak a name for this terrible evocation. Oh Hartley, Hartley, how timeless, how absolute love is. My love for you is unaware that I am old and you perhaps are dead.

But even Es and cocaine, over the years they blow holes in your brain, rob you of your memories, your past. Which is fair enough, convenient even.